


make me an offer I cannot refuse

by Ejunkiet



Series: ménage à trois [1]
Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: (also a little edging. as yeah.), Alternate universes / dimensional travel, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Exactly What It Says on the Tin, F/F, F/M, Multi, Mutual Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Threesome - F/F/M, and sex, magic is involved, ménage à trois, so much banter and snark, there is a plot (barely but it's there)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:59:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26898571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ejunkiet/pseuds/Ejunkiet
Summary: “Morgan, you said your name was. You smell like the others. Du Mortain. Sewell.” He hesitates, his fingers twitching - a nervous tic, and this she recognises too. “You smell like me.”Her eyes are narrowed as she takes him in. “Do you have a name?”“Mason,” he says simply. “And I’m starting to think I’m in the wrong place.”--“That’s it,” she purrs, her voice like soft velvet as she leans down to press another kiss against her throat, right above where she knows her scar is, the gesture intimate. “Let go, sweetheart. We’ve got you.”
Relationships: Female Detective/Mason (The Wayhaven Chronicles), Female Detective/Morgan (The Wayhaven Chronicles), Morgan (The Wayhaven Chronicles)/Female Detective/Mason (The Wayhaven Chronicles)
Series: ménage à trois [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2122905
Comments: 25
Kudos: 109





	1. doppelgangers and home invasions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ObsessiveDino](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObsessiveDino/gifts).



> This is a gift fic for the wonderful obsessivedino, who the lovely Detective Pearl White belongs to. Did I take your request for an M sandwich and make it a 7k+ smutty monster? yes. (thank you for letting me play with your detective <3)
> 
> This got big, so I have had to split it into two - enjoy the ride!

If you asked her how this started, she wouldn’t be sure of her answer.

Magic. There was magic involved, _definitely,_ that much was clear - from the sharp crackle of it through the air, the tinny, foul smelling smoke that floods the small space of her apartment. She’d barely had more than a moment's warning before the body came - dark haired and leather-clad, smelling of woodfire and cigarettes - stumbling out of the full length mirror onto the floor of her bedroom.

Her fingers are wrapped tightly around her phone, her thumb already pressed against the speed dial, Morgan’s voice sharp on the other side of the line as she calls her name, rising in volume when she doesn’t respond.

Pearl is frozen in place, her eyes on the stooped figure as they pick themselves slowly off the ground, a snarl tumbling from their lips and slowly increasing in volume as they glance around the apartment, dark, shadowed eyes finally settling on where she stands in the doorway.

 _“Pearl-!”_ Morgan’s voice again, from the phone, before she cuts herself off with a muffled curse, the line going dead as Pearl lowers the handset and takes a slow step back from the door. A sharp growl halts her in her tracks, and she winces, wishing she’d thought to move closer to her holster, tucked securely in a drawer on the _other_ side of her apartment.

“Stay… stay right where you are.” The words are whispered between panted breaths, and she can smell the metallic scent of blood, heavy and thick on the air.

“Who are you?”

A muffled snort, and she can see a flash of fang when he replies, the sight of the long curved canine causing her heart to skip a beat within her chest. _Vampire._

“I should be asking you that question.” 

There’s a weight to those words that she doesn’t understand - and in a flash, he appears in front of her, and she can see the details of him, streaked with soot and dried blood - deep olive skin with a scattering of freckles across the cheeks, dark, stormy grey eyes that she - recognises, despite herself.

He studies her for one long moment, eyes narrowed, and the aggression in him wanes as confusion takes its place.

“What are you?” His voice is soft as he leans in closer, angling his head until he can take a deep inhale of the skin above her neck. “You smell like her. Look like her, even. But you’re not her.”

He grabs her wrist, thrusting back her sleeve and holding it up to the light, releasing a soft breath of triumph, as if the action had proved something. “ _See.”_

 _See what?_ The skin of her wrist is pale against his, light blue veins visible under the surface, almost translucent in the low light. She twists her hand, trying to break his grip, but he only brings her in closer, his eyes dark, pupils dilated, swallowing the storm of his irises. 

His voice is a low growl as he asks again, _“What_ _are you?”_

There’s a vicious snarl from behind them as the door flies open with a resounding crack, the wood splintering under the force of it as it crashes into the wall. She glances back, catches a glimpse of dark hair and wild eyes, red lips curled back to reveal lethal, gleaming fangs.

 _“Get off of her.”_ The words are barely audible around the growl that accompanies them, and then warm hands are wrapping around her waist, tugging her backwards into a familiar form.

 _Morgan_.

Her chest is heaving, visibly out of breath in a way that Pearl's rarely seen before, but she’s _here,_ and the sense of relief she gets from her presence is almost overwhelming. She reaches back, until her fingers brush the warmth of her stomach, winding her fingers into the soft material of her henley, anchoring there.

A muted snarl comes from the man before them, his expression dangerous as he takes another step forward, bringing him into the light cast from kitchen - and there’s that flash of familiarity again, in the way he moves, the narrow way he examines the new threat, hands flexing at his sides.

He’s heavily injured, but no less dangerous for it, his own dark henley stained with crimson, his wounds visible beneath the tears in the cloth, although the skin is rapidly healing. 

Morgan stiffens behind her, a vicious snarl erupting from her lips as she shifts her position, pushing Pearl behind her, and it’s then that the familiarity clicks, startlingly obvious now that she thinks about it.

She can’t stop the question from blurting from her once she’s thought of it. “Are you two related?”

Both vampires pause, the tension effectively broken as they turn to give her an incredulous look.

 _“What?”_ Morgan’s voice is strained, the words muffled around her fangs as she keeps her focus centered on the other vampire.

Pearl’s cheeks are red, she knows it: she can feel the flush of heat there, but now that she’s noticed it, it’s not something she can ignore. Her resolve growing, she tightens her grip on Morgan’s henley, glancing up to meet her gaze.

“Look at him. There are - so many similarities between the two of you. Look at his necklace,” she nods towards the leather cords that band his neck, the familiar crystal that hangs there. “His eyes.”

He’s watching them, storm grey eyes narrowed, teeth - blunted now - biting into his lip as he looks between them.

Pearl turns to Morgan, and there’s a similar confusion in her expression, her dark eyes narrowed as they flicker across the other man’s features, studying him in turn, before her lip curls and she shakes her head.

“You should leave. Call Agent White.” Her voice is gentle but insistent, a small growl escaping her when Pearl hesitates. _“Pearl.”_

She wants to go. She really does, but - she can’t. She can’t leave him here like this - there’s something inside her that tells her that she should stay, that she needs to help him.

“He’s not a threat, Morgan.” She says it with a certainty she feels right to her core, although the origins of the thought are unclear. “He’s alone. And injured.”

Her cool grey eyes flick back to meet hers, softening for a moment, and the man before them lets out a snort.

“I’m not dead yet. I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss me.” 

The fangs are back, his eyes glittering, but the threat seems almost half-hearted as he frowns, crossing his arms across his chest.

“Morgan, you said your name was. You smell like the others. Du Mortain. Sewell.” He hesitates, his fingers twitching - a nervous tic, as if they’re used to holding something, and _this_ she recognises too. “You smell like _me.”_

Her eyes are narrowed as she takes him in. “Do you have a name?”

“Mason,” he says simply. “And I’m starting to think I’m in the wrong place.”

\--

She stands in front of her bathroom mirror, the tap on and the water running, staring at her reflection. The sound of running water drowns out everything else, as she takes a deep breath, and then another, her eyes on the swirl of water down the drain as her mind races, her thoughts too loud inside her head.

She's left the two vampires in the kitchen, the air between them thick with tension as each watches over the other with mutual distrust - but a truce of sorts had been put in place, when they realised just what was at stake here.

Some basic facts have been established: Mason and Morgan were more alike than she ever could have imagined - they were, in fact, the same. Identical in every detail aside from gender - including her.

("Pearl, in my world, has a scar here," he traced his nails along the inside of his wrist, his expression dark. It only gets darker when she turns her head to the side, revealing the scar on her neck.)

It's all - a lot to take in, and her fingers find the edges of the sink, digging into the ceramic as she closes her eyes and tries to regain control of her breathing. Everything will be _fine._

There’s a gentle creak as the door opens behind her, and she opens her eyes to see a familiar shape in the doorway, waiting for her permission to enter. She nods, and Morgan approaches, dark eyes muted in the light, considering as she closes the distance between them. 

Looking back to her reflection, she watches as Morgan studies her, her gaze flickering across her face before falling to her lips, lingering there for a long, drawn-out moment that makes her heart skip a beat.

“You’ve been in here a while, sweetheart.” 

Her voice curls against her ear on a soft breath, and she can feel the heat of her against her back, solid and steady, as Morgan’s hands find purchase on her hips, drawing her in closer. 

Her grey eyes are on hers again, softer now above the scattering of freckles across her cheeks, her hands warm around her waist, anchoring her as she leans into the touch, every brush of her thumb across her skin helping to alleviate the curl of anxiety inside her chest. 

Mason watches them from the bedroom, stormy eyes conflicted, before he turns away, jaw clenching as he moves towards the window.

"Do you have a smoke?"

She opens her mouth to speak, but Morgan beats her to it, her voice little more than a growl. _"Not in the house."_

He lets out a laugh but there’s not much humour in it, jamming his hands into his tattered jacket pockets. "Some things don't change."

She’s had enough time to get herself together. Taking another deep breath, she reaches out and turns off the tap. Morgan steps back when she straightens, giving her space as she turns away from the mirror, although her hand lingers on her waist, a warm anchor as they leave the room. 

Once they’re back in the muted lighting of her bedroom, Morgan turns to address the vampire by the window.

"You can't stay here." He snorts, as if to say that much was obvious, his hands flexing with agitation at his sides. "Do you know how to get back?"

He glances towards the mirror, lips twisting into a scowl. "I have an idea, but I don't like it. It will - take a while."

He pauses, a frown twisting his features as his gaze moves to meet hers. "And I'll need help."

"What exactly will you need?" His dark eyes hold Pearl's for a moment longer, before flickering back to meet his counterpart’s stormy grey gaze.

"Blood, for the mirror." He jerks his chin towards her, and his expression is unreadable as he continues with a growl. "Her blood."

Morgan’s lip curls back in a low snarl and she takes a step forward, placing herself between Pearl and the other vampire. _“No.”_

He sneers back, his hands flexing at his sides once more, storm grey eyes bright beneath his dark hair. 

" _Not much._ Just enough to catch someone's attention, in my world. He owes me a favour."

She responds with another snarl. “I said _no._ ”

“I’ll do it.” The words escape her before she has a chance to think them through completely, but she means it, holding firm even as Morgan’s dark eyes turn on her, vicious and angry.

_“Pearl.”_

“I’d do the same, if it were you.” She holds her stare, the statement effectively cutting off any further objections she might have raised, and satisfied, she turns to meet Mason’s gaze. “What do you need?”

\--

All it takes is a finger prick, enough for blood to well on the pad of her thumb, before she presses the print of it against the glass. After a moment’s hesitation, Mason unties the leather strap from around his neck and drapes it over the frame, the crystal swaying with the movement until it settles against the mark.

He looks - vulnerable without it, his eyes troubled as he steps away from the frame, and as she looks closer, she thinks his hands might be shaking.

“And that’s it?” Morgan’s voice is harsh as it cuts through the silence that’s fallen around them.

“That’s it.” His scowl is back, dark eyes narrowed in a glare as he looks back to the glass. “Now we wait."

Morgan lets out a scoff, turning her back on him as she glances back at Pearl, meeting her gaze once again. “You’re sure you’re okay with this?”

It’s not hard to read the concern in her gaze, and she gives her a small smile, reaching out to snag her sleeve, running her fingers gently down her arm until the tension in her loosens. “I’m sure.”

She doesn’t miss the way Mason grimaces before glancing away, and a pang of guilt hits her then - this can’t have been easy on him, it’s not as if he’d _chosen_ to come here. “Can I get you anything?”

He gives her a skeptical look, his lip curling. _“No.”_ He suppresses a shiver, his frown deepening as he glances down at his clothes. “Unless you’ve got something else I can wear?”

It’s not a polite request, and to be honest, she’s not sure if she _does_ , but Morgan answers for her, nodding towards the chest of drawers in the corner. “In there. Bottom drawer.”

He releases a frustrated growl and moves to the dresser as the other vampire crosses the room, her hands finding Pearl’s waist once more. 

Her finger still stings, and she inspects it, the mark left by the needle she’d used - santised in rubbing alcohol, the best thing she had on hand - before a muted snarl draws her attention away.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” She glances over to see him holding up one of her favourite nightshirts: an oversized lime green tee, that should, in fact, fit him. 

“What’s the problem?”

His expression twists in disgust as he rotates the shirt, revealing the logo emblazoned across the front: an adorable sleepy panda curled up in a bamboo forest, with the words ‘BEARLY AWAKE’ printed beneath it.

Morgan’s lips curl up into a smirk. “You gotta make do with what you’ve got.”

He shoots her a dark look before he drops the shirt onto the bed, stripping out of his own with a low growl. It falls apart within his hands, barely more than strips of cloth at this point, and she catches a glimpse of his bloodied chest as he tosses the tattered remains of it into the trash. 

He straightens, turning to face her fully, and her breath catches in her throat.

He’s striking - leanly built, muscles well defined beneath tan skin and dark hair, and even covered in blood from his recently healed wounds, he is - beautiful.

Her heart thuds, once, inside of her chest. Hard.

It’s not like the way she feels around Morgan, the overpowering draw of her, the way she’s consumed by her presence, but still - it’s close. Noticeable.

Noticeable enough that Mason pauses in mid-motion, reaching for the shirt, a strange glint in his dark eyes as they find hers. The hands at her waist shift minutely, and his cool gaze flickers above her shoulder, settling there, before his lips lift into a smirk.

“Seems like she likes what she sees.”

The intensity of her blush threatens to burn her skin, and she tries to pull away and hide her face, but Morgan’s hands steady her, preventing the movement. 

The dark curtain of her hair brushes against her cheek as Morgan leans forward, her voice a low purr in her ear. “Is that right, sweetheart?”

It’s immediate, the effect those words have on her. It’s always like this with Morgan: the overwhelming intensity of it, the memory of her mouth on her and what she can do sending her heart ricocheting inside of her chest.

Morgan’s hands move across her, trailing across her stomach as her lips brush against her neck, tasting the flush that’s settled there, before she hums, low and considering in the back of her throat.

“How much time do we have?” The question is directed at the man before them, and Pearl can see the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the way his eyes have darkened, pupils blown.

“Enough” His dark eyes fall to meet hers once again, the intensity of his stare taking her breath away. “If you’re both willing.”

Morgan hums again, before her hands pull back, settling back on her waist, thumbs rubbing circles against the skin there. “What do you say, sweetheart?”

It’d be impossible to misunderstand the proposition.

Her throat is dry, and she swallows to clear it, the flex of the fingers at her waist nearly stealing her breath again. “What exactly... did you have in mind?”

“You. Me. Her.” He jerks his head towards the bed. “There.”

The words are blunt, accompanied by a sharp smile that makes her heart skip a beat inside of her chest.

Soft lips trail against her neck, nibbling at that spot just behind her ear until she shivers, the hands at her waist dipping low, playing with the waistband of her sleeping shorts.

Her cheeks are warm as heat pools in the pit of her stomach, and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t interested. That she wasn’t _curious_. 

Breathless, with her heart in her throat, she manages a hushed, “ _yes_.”

Twin grins meet her statement, glinting dangerously in the half light.


	2. blood and mirrors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“That’s it,” she purrs, her voice like soft velvet as she leans down to press another kiss against her throat, right above where she knows her scar is, the gesture intimate as she shudders beneath her hands. “Let go, sweetheart. We’ve got you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check the updated tags and fasten your seatbelts, folks - this is a _doozy_.
> 
> The wonderful obsessivedino made some delicious art for the story- check it out [here!](https://obsessivedino.tumblr.com/post/643830175309742080/morgan-monday-an-incredibly-self-indulgent)

_Yes._ It’s a simple statement, but the tension in the room ignites, the simmering intensity that had been crackling in the air between them flaring into a blazing heat.

She can feel Morgan’s gaze on her, the weight of it heating the flush on her skin. Mason’s eyes glint from where he stands in the doorway to the bathroom, propped against the frame, and she can’t help the way her eyes are drawn to his, taking in the long, lean lines of him.

His smile grows as he catches the action, taking on a predatory glint as the hands at her waist slide lower, curling possessively around her hips.

Morgan’s mouth moves to her ear, her voice a low and husky whisper. “Get on the bed.”

She takes a step back, her eyes dark and glittering as she watches Pearl move to do as she asks, shivering slightly from the loss of contact as she climbs on top of the sheets. Once she’s settled, she turns to face them, her pulse jumping under the intensity of their twin stares.

“Good girl,” Morgan purrs once more, her eyes dark and lingering, before she looks to her counterpart, her lips twisting as she takes in the state of him. “Are you sure you’re feeling up to this?”

His response is a low growl, and she rolls her eyes, moving towards the bathroom as his steely eyed gaze meets Pearl’s once more.

“This will be a first,” he admits, and his voice is low, deeper than usual, the sound of it igniting the heat in her stomach, providing more fuel to the flame. His eyes are soft though, and for a moment, she thinks she thinks he looks - conflicted. “But it’s you. I always want you.”

She holds out her hand to him, and he hesitates a moment before stepping closer and taking it, his hands larger than the ones she’s used to, and yet she still feels some of that same _spark_ that comes from the connection, as his stare focuses on their joined hands, a crease forming between his brows.

“Are you ready?” Morgan stands in the doorway to the bathroom, her hands wet, water dripping from one of Pearl’s hand towels onto the floor. The question is meant for her, she realises, when she glances back to meet her gaze, losing herself for a moment in their stormy grey depths before she blinks away.

“I’m ready. Although…” She bites at her lower lip, the flush on her cheeks doubling in intensity as she struggles to put her question into words. “I’m not sure exactly how we will…”

"I’m sure we can think of something." Mason’s voice is low, his dark eyes travelling slowly over her, making her skin feel hot and too tight, like a sweater shrunk in the wash, as a shiver makes its way down her spine.

He grunts as he's hit in the face with the wet hand towel.

"Clean yourself up, first." Morgan steps in closer, but her eyes are only on Pearl as she approaches, dark and predatory. “You’re not getting blood on the sheets.”

Stopping at the foot of the bed, she shrugs out of her shirt, taking it slow in an almost luxurious stretch that has Pearl’s heartbeat skating in her throat - a fact that she is keenly aware of, if her wolfish grin is anything to go by, her eyes glittering as she drops the material to the floor. Her jeans follow, revealing the sleek lines of her legs, and her heart shudders in her chest as Pearl watches, unable to look away.

She’s beautiful and she knows it, standing there in just a sports bra and underwear, a hand tangled in the thick, dark strands of her hair as she pushes it away from her face. She’s long and lean, freckles sprinkled liberally across her tan skin, clustered around the dip of her cleavage, generous curves emphasized by the slim fit of her underwear.

With a small push, she’s on the bed, prowling closer - Pearl barely has the chance to take a breath before Morgan is there, mouth hot on hers, chasing her lips as she presses her back into the pillows.

She moves fast, knowing exactly what she wants as her hands slide under the loose pajama shirt Pearl had worn to bed, warm palms seeking skin as her fingers skate across her ribs, breaking the kiss with a groan as she reaches her bare chest.

“No bra, sweet thing?” 

Her cheeks are burning as she opens her mouth to respond - before it’s lost in a gasp as Morgan skims her hands across her skin, teasing at her nipples as she bites softly at her throat.

Her hands reach for her, grasping for purchase, grabbing fistfulls of her dark hair as she arches against the touch. “Morgan-”

She continues down the column of her throat, mouthing at her clavicle until she leaves a mark, soothing the sting of it with her tongue, glancing up at her from beneath dark lashes. “Keep saying my name, sweetheart.” 

Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she looks back towards where Mason stands in the doorway to the bathroom, moderately cleaner than he was before, belt undone and boots shucked off, kicked into a corner.

“Are you just going to watch?”

He gives a low growl, chucking the bloodied hand towel in the sink before he approaches the bed, his grey eyes almost black in the dim light. 

As he watches, Morgan moves back, slipping her hands down until she can grab the hem of Pearl’s shirt, pulling it off in one swift motion, and then her mouth descends on her again, swallowing her gasp, before moving back down her throat, her chest, nipping at the curve of her breast.

She bites her lip to muffle the cry that wants to spill out, squeezing her eyes tightly shut as Morgan paves blazing trails across her body with her mouth and hands, taking her breast into her mouth as she reaches down into her underwear, cupping her intimately as she swallows a moan.

The bed tilts as another weight joins them on the mattress, before a soft touch brushes against her cheek, following the curve of cheekbone, and she opens her eyes to see familiar grey eyes haloed by dark hair, irises nearly entirely swallowed by the pupil. His touch lingers, falling down to trace the curve of her lower lip, and he’s waiting, she realises, for permission to continue.

She opens her mouth, her tongue swiping out until she can taste him, the bitterness of her hand soap, and his breath catches, gaze falling to her mouth before he leans in, capturing her lips as his hand finds one of hers, pressing it back into the bed.

He tastes like blood and smoke, although it’s faint, an aftertaste that lingers on her tongue as his own presses against hers, the kiss turning consuming as she opens up to him, and he takes all that he can get.

Morgan’s kisses trail down her body, following her hands as they snag the waistband of her underwear, stripping them from her hips before her mouth descends there too, pressing an intimate kiss against her, and she breaks away from Mason’s kiss with a whine, gasping for breath.

“Morgan-” she tries, reaching out with her free hand, blindly seeking hers as Mason shifts, pressing an open mouthed kiss to her jaw, and Morgan’s hand finds her, their fingers interlacing, thumb rubbing soothing circles against the inside of her wrist.

“Hush, sweet thing. Let us take care of you.”

She presses a soft kiss against her inner thigh, hot breath teasing another shudder, before her other hand slides between her legs, caressing her before her mouth presses against her once more.

Tilting her head back, she arches into it, her eyes squeezed shut against the onslaught, the sharp edge of Mason’s teeth trailing down her neck only heightening the sensation as she gasps, shuddering through it.

She’s dizzy when Morgan pulls back, an edged smile on her lips as she licks them, dark eyes glittering in the low light as she moves back up the bed and perches over her, taking in the flush on her cheeks, her panting breaths.

“You’re gorgeous, sweet thing.” Her voice is low and husky, her eyes almost dazed as she dips in low for a chaste kiss, and Mason rumbles an agreement, his hand circling her waist, the pad of his thumb rough against her skin. “Want a taste?”

She lifts her hand to Pearl’s mouth, brushing her fingertips over her lower lip until she accepts them. 

She can taste the bittersweet tang of her arousal on her tongue as she licks them clean, Morgan's eyes on her mouth before she leans in to kiss her again, her hand slipping back between her legs as she deepens the kiss, ravenous and open mouthed until Pearl can hardly breathe under the intensity of it.

Mason is watching them, lips parted and breaths heavy, a small glimmer of fang visible above his lower lip. Releasing a low snarl, he reaches down to adjust the waistband of his jeans before pushing away from the bed to remove them entirely, movements brutal and efficient as he strips them away. 

Pearl takes in a gasping breath as Morgan pulls away from the kiss, although her hand keeps moving, maintaining a slow, steady rhythm that makes sparks fly up her spine, determined to drive her _insane_.

Morgan’s gaze flickers over Mason, taking in the long, lean form of him as he straightens, a brow rising as he kicks his jeans to the side.

“I’d take better care of those, unless you want to wind up back in your world in just your underwear.”

His dark eyes flash to hers, the corner of his mouth twisting into a dark smile that shows his teeth. “They’ll do the job.”

His gaze flickers over them on the bed, assessing as he takes in their positions, before he moves to the other side, climbing onto the mattress beside her. His breath is hot against her neck as his hands skate down her arm, his touch light as he noses through the curtain of her hair, whispering softly into her ear. 

“This okay?”

Her shiver is answer enough, but he waits until she can say it herself, the word hushed and cracking in her throat. _“Yes.”_

His touch gets firmer, moving from her arm to her side, his fingers dragging along her ribs before his mouth descends onto her chest and she can’t help the whimper that escapes her, her back arching.

“Fuck, I love how sensitive you are.”

The words are harsh, breathed out between panted breaths as his mouth travels along her skin, and Morgan meets them with an answering rumble, licking a long line along her jaw. 

The pace of her motions increase, her fingers dipping down to curl into her, and Pearl whimpers again, bucking against her hand until a firm grip at her hip pushes her down - Morgan, from the prick of her nails against her skin, her dark eyes gleaming, red lips curved into a smile. 

“That’s it,” she purrs, her voice like soft velvet as she leans down to press another kiss against her throat, right above where she knows her scar is, the gesture intimate as she shudders beneath her hands. “Let go, sweetheart. We’ve got you.”

Mason lets out a low growl, his hips rutting against the mattress as his hands find the curves of her body, blunt nails leaving red trails as his fingers drag across her skin, and she bites her lip, trying to muffle the sounds that are building, inescapably, at the back of her throat.

Between the two of them, she feels - overwhelmed. The sensations build, winding tighter and tighter, her heart pounding a thumping rhythm against her ribcage until she thinks she's going to burst - and if it weren't for their hands on her, anchoring her, her safety line, she thinks she’d fall apart completely.

"Come on, baby," Morgan purrs in her ear, nipping at her jaw, just above her pulse, as another low growl shudders through her chest, rough hands on her skin - and then she's shattering with a cry in a rush of pleasure, back arching above the sheets.

“That’s it, sweet thing.” The ruthless pace of Morgan’s fingers slow against her, gentling as she whimpers, and she leans up to capture her mouth again, the kiss filthy, swallowing her moans as her fingers work her through the aftershocks. 

Her grey eyes are dark as she pulls away, licking her lips as her gaze travels across her body, lingering on the marks made by their mouths, the blush that stains her skin, the way she shivers as she comes down, panting for breath.

Reaching out, she traces the line of cheek with a fingertip, softly, pulling at her bottom lip.

“Stunning.” Her voice is low, barely more than a whisper, before her dark eyes slide to the side, finding the other vampire. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Mason groans, shifting back, his breathing ragged as he adjusts himself on the bed. _“Yes.”_

He’s crouched beside them, dark hair obscuring most of his features as he moves restlessly against the sheets, and she can see that he's still hard, almost painfully so, straining against his dark underwear.

"Like what you see, sweetheart?" His voice is a low growl and she looks up to find his dark eyes on her, irises like a winter storm, a glimmer of fang visible behind his parted lips. He glances over her, gaze lingering on a few choice areas, a smirk curling at the corners of his mouth, and she can’t look away.

Morgan’s hand sweeps across her skin, curling around her waist, almost possessive, her eyes on him, dark and glittering. "Want to take care of that?" 

Mason considers her for a long moment, before his lips lift into a smirk. "Want to give me something to look at?"

She lets out a low hum, before her lips curl into a matching smile. "That can be arranged.”

Dipping low, she makes as if to kiss Pearl again, pausing just above her lips. Her breath is hot against her skin, dark eyes focused on her mouth as she whispers, “What do you think, sweetheart?”

A wicked grin on her lips, she bites at her jaw, weaving a burning trail down her body, even as Pearl lets out a soft whimper and reaches out to tangle a hand in her hair. It’s too much, too soon - her body oversensitized, but still, a liquid heat stirs in the pit of her stomach, molten and heavy.

 _“Morgan-”_ she can’t, she wants to say, but the words are swallowed by another short gasp as the vampire’s mouth finds her neck again, fingers trailing down her body, slow and purposeful. 

Her kisses trail up the column of her throat, her breath hot against the shell of her ear.

“Just a little more, sweet thing. I know you can handle it.”

She pulls back, just enough that her dark gaze can meet her own, and Pearl can't deny her when she looks at her like that, eyes soft and dark and daring, when she _knows_ just what that look promises and how much pleasure she can bring.

More than that, she _wants_ to continue - wants to see Morgan come undone the same way she has, give her a taste of the same pleasure she’s experienced, again and again, under her hands.

“I want you,” she whispers, and Morgan’s eyes darken before she dips in low again for another kiss, wet and filthy, tasting her deeply, before she pulls away.

Reaching back, she unhooks the clasps of her bra and drops the material to the side before shifting back on the bed and slithering out of her underwear. Every inch of revealed skin makes Pearl shiver, and she bites down on her lip, fighting the urge to squirm as heat curls in her gut, and Morgan smiles. 

Returning to the top of the bed, she presses in closer, dark eyes glittering with amusement and head cocking to the side as she tracks the changes in her heartbeat. “You like that, sweet thing?” 

The scent of arousal is thick on the air, even to her human senses, and Mason lets out a low groan.

“Fuck,” he mutters, shifting back on the sheets, palming himself roughly before he reaches down, yanking down his underwear with a growl and takes himself in hand.

Morgan’s dark eyes are gleaming, red lips curved into a smile as she shifts their position, curling Pearl’s leg around her waist as she slips the other between her thighs, straddling it until it’s tight against her sex.

She shifts, moving experimentally, hot and slick against her thigh, and Pearl shivers, reaching out to her. Morgan takes her hand, leaning forward until they’re curtained by the dark spray of her hair, and all she can see is her, her eyes dark and glittering as she looks her over.

“You ready, sweetheart?”

She doesn’t wait long for her answer, her other hand trailing down, fingers slipping through the mess between her legs, dipping a finger inside of her as she chokes out a gasp, still too sensitive, and Morgan lets out a low groan. 

“You’re still so wet.” She removes her fingers, bringing them to her mouth, dark eyes on her as she licks them and hums, rocking her hips as she grinds herself against her thigh, and she can't help her answering moan, even as embarrassment floods her chest.

“You taste so good, sweet thing.” She licks at her fingers again, before sucking them into her mouth and Pearl whimpers, her blush climbing up her cheeks until it threatens to overwhelm her. “Delicious.”

Mason lets out a strangled growl, and Morgan smirks, flicking her hair out of her face as she leans back, restoring some of the distance between them. Releasing Pearl’s hand, she takes a hold of the leg around her waist, hiking it higher before pressing forward, until their bodies are flush.

Morgan’s thigh presses against her, hot and insistent, and she can’t hold back the moan that tumbles from her lips, a loud cry in the hushed quiet that’s fallen over the apartment.

Morgan lets out a low hum of approval. “Just like that, sweetheart.”

She moves again, rolling her hips, throwing her head back as she lets out a shuddering breath, and she’s beautiful in the low light, a dark flush making its way down her neck and the curve of her breasts. 

Tossing a glance over her shoulder, her lips curl into a sharp grin. “Sit back and enjoy the show.”

She takes it slow, setting a steady, rolling pace that makes her shiver until her nerves are fizzing with it, every touch igniting the heat beneath her skin, until she’s a quivering mess, barely able to focus on anything more than Morgan’s movements and the shape of her mouth as she bites a burning trail across her body.

Mason’s grey eyes track their movements as his hand moves in a steady rhythm, his breathing harsh, pupils blown as he follows the motions of their joined bodies, free hand flexing where it's gripping the sheets.

“Touch her.” Morgan’s suggestion is soft, and there’s a loud creak as the material rips beneath his fingertips. “Show her how she makes you feel.”

Mason lets out a groan and leans forward, reaching out to cup her cheek while his thumb rubs over her lower lip, curling around her chin. “Look at me.”

Between his hands and Morgan’s movements, Pearl feels like she’s going to fall apart.

There’s a moan building in the back of her throat, and she bites on her lips to stifle it - Mason stops her with a low snarl.

 _"Don’t."_ The word is a growl, his eyes dark as he holds her stare, pupils blown, releasing his grip on her chin to draw his thumb over her bottom lip again, dragging it free from her teeth. "I want to hear you."

She’s winding higher and higher, her chest tight, her moans almost sobs as Morgan eases back again, kissing her long and slow, keeping her on the edge until she’s writhing beneath her.

“Morgan - _please.”_ It’s barely more than a gasp, but it’s this final plea that finally gets through to her, and she captures her mouth again, her grip tightening on her leg as she hikes it up and _moves_ and they find completion together on a shuddering gasp. With a choked sound, Mason follows.

Morgan slumps over her, breathing hard against the pillow, her skin tacky with sweat as a contented hum rumbles through her. _“Fuck.”_

A rough hand drags through Pearl’s hair, pushing it back from her face, and she cracks open an eye to see Mason watching her, his eyes impossibly dark.

"You did well, sweetheart." His voice is low, soft, and there’s a strange light in his gaze as it flickers across her features, his hand dropping to cup against the curve of her cheek. Dipping low, he meets her mouth again, and this kiss is different - slow and intent, conveying a message she doesn't understand, doesn’t think she is meant to. 

It steals her breath away, and she can’t manage much before she has to break away, dizzy with exhaustion.

Stirring from her slumped position, Morgan leans in, nuzzling against her hair, mouth trailing across her skin until she finds her ear.

“Sleep, sweet thing. You’ve earned it.”

She’s already on her way there, her limbs heavy with exhaustion, even as her body buzzes pleasantly, and it only takes a few more moments before she is gone.

\--

Pearl is asleep, beautiful and delicate where she lies curled among the sheets, bare skin flushed with a healthy glow, smelling of their mingled arousal and sex.

She looks well and truly fucked, and Morgan can’t help the curl of pride that stirs within her chest at the sight, or the spreading warmth that accompanies it, even if she doesn’t completely understand it.

The other vampire slips back into his jeans, wincing at the harsh brush of denim against his sensitized skin, and this she knows, recognises; the raw sensation after healing, too sharp, almost overwhelming.

It’s a slow process, the socks, the boots, but she doesn’t offer to help him, and he doesn’t ask her to, going about the business of reassembling his wardrobe with efficiency, if not grace, as she watches.

Finally, he picks up the lime green tee shirt from the bed, his nose wrinkling at the sight of it, and Morgan releases an ugly snort, breaking the hushed silence that’s fallen between them. 

"She'll be heartbroken if you don't take it with you."

Swallowing a growl, he slips the green monstrosity on, and it's a tight fit, the panda motif stretching out of shape, exaggerating the text until he looks - well, ridiculous. But it does the job, and if he’s anything like her, he knows when it’s best to swallow his pride.

He’s a visitor here, and he’s almost outstayed his welcome - her patience wears thinner by the moment.

“How much longer?” She doesn’t have to provide more context to the question - he gets her meaning easily enough.

“Not long.”

Almost as if on cue, the mirror flashes - once, twice, three times. She can taste the sharp tang of magic on the air before the glass is filled with fog, the reflection obscured as a blast of icy air slips through, making the crystal necklace sway against the frame.

He reaches out to grab it, pulling it away from the mirror as the surface ripples, before a room appears, a small space with cloth walls and weathered oak beams, dried herbs and flowers weaved into the structure, and she finds it familiar despite herself, even if she can’t quite place it.

“This is it?”

He nods, fingers flexing at his sides, a complicated, unspoken emotion crossing his features as he watches the portal. “Yeah.”

Shouldering the bloodied remains of his leather jacket, he takes a step towards the frame, before he hesitates.

His cool grey eyes are piercing as they meet hers from across the room, and it’s still uncanny to see the same eyes reflected back at her.

"Keep her close." There's a weight behind the words, something more that he's not said, and she wonders again about the circumstances of his world - what other changes define the boundaries between their mirrored lives.

"I don't need you to tell me that," she replies, and she doesn't. She has no intention of going fucking anywhere - not when the arrangement she has already is working out so well, and she doesn't see that changing anytime in the foreseeable future. "I won't make your mistakes."

He freezes then, dark eyes widening before he bares his teeth in a vicious snarl, and oh, she has hit a  _ nerve _ .

And maybe that’s what this is, what he’s not been saying. The reason behind the hesitation she’s seen in him all night, the little pauses and lingering stares, the stink of fucking envy. Maybe he’d had this once, and lost it.

He's itching for a fight, and she can see him thinking about it, hands flexing at his sides. But he doesn’t have anything else to say, and with another step towards the mirror - he’s gone.

The mirror returns to its natural state, the apartment falling into a hushed quiet once more.

And that's it, then.

Afterwards, Morgan changes back into her clothes and settles back onto the bed. It's for practical reasons, of course - it’s obviously the best place to keep an eye on the portal in the event of any more unwanted visitors, or so she tells herself.

Her fingers brush against the soft strands of Pearl's hair where they've splayed across the pillow, drawing down to her bare shoulders, tracing soft patterns along the curve of her spine, and she doesn't think about that last exchange and what it could mean, she _doesn't_. 

(Just because _he_ had lost her, doesn’t mean that _she_ would.)

When morning dawns on the horizon, brightening the empty space of the apartment, the mirror remains empty, and that, she decides, is enough.

She grabs her coat, sliding the leather comfortably back around her shoulders, and walks out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ngl, the horny energy of two M's made me go a _little_ feral....


	3. through a glass, darkly (epilogue)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mason returns from his trip through the mirror. Nate has questions. 
> 
> \--
> 
> _“My heart’s doing just fine.” He lets out a forceful snort, smoke writhing across his features. “Hell, I’m the reason we broke it off. She wanted more.”_
> 
> _"You didn't?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The epilogue to this smutty monster. Thanks for joining me on this ride! 
> 
> [Cheeky art of the teeshirt here](https://ejunkiet.tumblr.com/post/632883002995851264/youve-got-to-be-kidding-me-his-expression); see the rest of the series for continuations of this verse.

"Mason." It’s said softly and without inflection, but still, Mason can hear the unspoken concern in the word.

It's been a week since he was discharged from the hospital, the trip through the mirror and the wounds he had sustained before it ensuring that Agent White made the call, even if in the end it was unnecessary. He'd healed, as he always does, his latent abilities unaffected by the journey, even if the trip itself was unprecedented.

Not many survive the passage through a portal - no other in the history of the Agency had made the trip twice.

Agent White is professional, if stiff, during his debrief. She still won't maintain eye contact with him for longer periods of time, and he doesn't blame her. She hadn't taken to Bobby either, and he doesn't fault her instincts - they'd never made it official, but it had been obvious that something had been going on between him and her daughter.

And now it was over.

He takes a puff of his cigarette, letting the smoke curl around his lips as he glances to the side, meeting the warm, expectant gaze that’s been watching him for a while, Nate’s expression unreadable as he stands in the entrance to the rec area.

"Need something?"

"No." He pauses, a moment of hesitation that speaks volumes. “I wanted to ask if you needed anything.”

Mason raises a brow. "And what would I need?"

He considers his answer carefully, expression mild as his hand raises to smooth through the stubble on his jaw. "An ear, perhaps."

“I don’t have anything to talk about.”

Nate lets out a low hum, leaning against the frame of the door as his eyes slide to the window, where the figures of Felix and Pearl are visible in the distance, playing in the litter of fallen leaves that has enveloped the warehouse. 

They’re both bundled up for the weather with layers upon layers of scarves and coats, almost to the point of absurdity, the detective’s cheeks rosy with the chill, lips bitten and red as she laughs.

Nate’s voice is softer when he speaks again. “You’re not alone in this, you know.”

Mason’s hackles raise, and when he speaks again, his voice is louder, words tinged with a growl. “I said, there’s nothing to talk about.”

The other vampire’s features crease into a frown at the vehemence of the response and Mason lets out a low curse. Shit. There was no avoiding this now.

He sticks the cigarette back between his lips and takes a deep pull, appreciating the slow burn of the smoke as it works down his throat, settling the shifting mess of his emotions.

When he’s calmer, he glances back up to meet Nate’s gaze, closer now, after he’s crossed the short distance between them, leaning against the pool table, his posture nonchalant, hands sunk deep into his pockets. 

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

A corner of his mouth lifts, breaking the innocuous facade, before he asks, “What happened over there?”

“It’s in the report.” Most of it, anyway. He’d kept back some of the details, such as the intimacies they’d shared together in the apartment - it’d just make for smutty literature, and wasn’t relevant to the interests of the Agency. 

(Still, that doesn’t mean he didn’t think about it. Often, in his room, when he’s alone.)

“I’ve read the report.” Nate agrees and Mason blinks, pulling his focus back to the continuing conversation. “You said there was another version of yourself. Another detective.”

He lets out a small huff in acknowledgement; they’d already gone over this in the debrief. “Are you going to get to the point?”

“You know, I’m not a stranger to heartbreak.”

That was an understatement, if there ever was one. Agent Sewell was a monument to the lovesick, leaving a long line of fractured, broken relationships behind him - but the fact that he’s bringing this up now-

Mason takes another deep pull of his cigarette, swallowing a lungful of smoke that tastes like ash, tobacco mostly gone, the thing itself almost burned down to the stub.

“My heart’s doing just fine.” He lets out a forceful snort, smoke writhing across his features. “Hell, I’m the reason we broke it off. She wanted more.”

Lifting his shoulder in a shrug, he ignores the way his chest tightens at the thought. They had a good thing going, that’s all. His little… trip had just reminded him of that. Of how good it was.

“You didn’t?”

The question is soft, barely more than a murmur, but the words are clear all the same.

He bites down on his cigarette, hard, severing the butt, the burnt out stub falling to the floor. He spits out the rest, flicking it towards the trashcan in the corner, before meeting Nate’s gaze, his lips twisted into a grimace - at the taste of tobacco and ash on his tongue or the question, he doesn't know.

 _“No.”_ It’s said with a viciousness that surprises even him, the anger sudden and unexpected, a roiling tangle of heat in the center of his chest, and shit. _Shit._

Turning on his heel, he makes his way out of the room, ignoring the concern in Nate’s voice as he calls after him. He doesn’t stop until he reaches his room, slamming the door behind him, and he’s alone again, chest heaving under the strain of some emotion he can’t identify, hot and clawing at his throat.

He didn’t.

\--

He still has the shirt.

It's a little worse for wear, considering its mileage. 

The trip back through the portal hadn’t been an easy one: the whirlwind of magic had singed his hair and clothes, made his mouth taste of copper, as if he'd swallowed a mouthful of pennies. He'd vomited blood on the other side, painting a gruesome picture on the floor of the canvas tent - and this was Sanja's tent, once, before the kidnapping, before the end of the truce negotiations and the start of the conflict that had led to this, even if she was no longer here to claim it.

While Mason could smell the smoke-eyed fae on the air in the tent, the one whose mirror this belonged to, the man himself was nowhere to be seen. It was Adam who had found him amongst the wreckage of the old fairgrounds and helped him back to the agency facility. 

(There was naked emotion in the other man's expression as he’d helped him through the forest, something Mason has only seen a handful of times, and it’d prompted him to ask, "How long was I gone?"

Adam's jaw had flexed, his eyes shadowed as he glanced down to meet his gaze, and when he spoke, his voice was strained. "A few days. Our trackers couldn't find you."

His eyes had widened at the implication as he choked and tried not to swallow his own tongue.

They’d thought he was _dead_.)

The shirt no longer smells of her; no longer smells of anything but his blood and sweat, with a faint undercurrent of magic, and that knowledge shouldn't affect him the way it does.

In the least, his detective - _the_ detective here, doesn’t know that he has it. 

He doesn’t want to know what she’d think if she knew he'd come back in one of her nightshirts - can’t imagine what she’d think of the moments that led up to his possession of it.

(Would he apologise, if she found out?)

(He doesn't think he would.)

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know your thoughts & ask me questions, I've built a ridiculous amount of backstory for this... 
> 
> Comments & kudos greatly appreciated, find me on tumblr as Ejunkiet!


End file.
